


made for the chapel with some spray paint

by queenbaskerville



Series: got the brightest skylight [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition, The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Ambiguous Inquisitor, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Crossover, Dragon Age: Inquisition Quest - Revelations, F/M, Gen, Gender neutral Inquisitor, Lesbian Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, M/M, Portals, Timeline What Timeline, author did not put a lot of effort into worldbuilding, author seriously has no concept of time, jaskier is a disaster, leliana and cassandra and vivienne bond over being pissed off, not that seriously though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 12:27:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22969987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenbaskerville/pseuds/queenbaskerville
Summary: If a bard was to be appointed Divine, you'd expect it would be Leliana. Somehow Jaskier gets the position. It goes about as well as you'd expect.dragon age alphabet: h is for holiness
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: got the brightest skylight [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1599907
Comments: 6
Kudos: 84





	made for the chapel with some spray paint

**Author's Note:**

> this was born from a reply to [one of my posts on tumblr](https://lavellanlesbians.tumblr.com/post/190731342496/the-difference-between-the-witcher-bards-and). I basically thought it was funny how different the witcher!bards and dragon age!bards are, like if you compare leliana and jaskier, and tumblr user oatplant was like, imagine jaskier as the divine, and so i did. and here we are.
> 
> [this was my initial draft posted to tumblr](https://lavellanlesbians.tumblr.com/post/190738648511/the-best-thing-about-divine-aubade-is-the-morning) but i've since expanded and, again, here we are!
> 
> if any of the religious stuff / politics stuff doesn't make any sense just try to suspend ur disbelief; i don't know much about how real world religious politics work (papal stuff, for example) let alone how chantry politics work lol. I tried to do a bit of research on the dragon age wiki though. 
> 
> title from ["psalms 40:2" by the mountain goats](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BcmDXkwwR4c)

"They've chosen a new Divine," Leliana says, when the Inquisitor climbs the three flights to get to the topmost floor of the tower. 

"I'm sorry, _what?_ " the Inquisitor says. "A new Divine? But—I hadn't sent out my declaration of support. The election wasn't supposed to be until 9:42!”

"I know," Leliana says. 

Ravens croak on their ledges. Most of the spies (who make pitstops here) and the birdkeepers (who are near-permanent fixtures) have cleared out—no doubt because, despite Leliana's mask of a face, the Inquisitor can sense a thundercloud behind her eyes.

The Inquisitor spent most of their time, when they weren’t preoccupied with other things, trying to figure out which of their friends they should back as the candidate for next Divine. They've spoken to each on this matter, seeking them out where they felt most comfortable: Cassandra, by the training grounds, Leliana, in her tower, and Vivienne, at her own balcony. They heard each pitch and platform, listened to each impassioned or persuasive speech (Cassandra's more straightforward than most). The Inquisitor has their own values, of course, their own leanings, their own opinion on it, and their own closeness to each friend. But they're still indecisive.

Now it seems like none of that matters. A decision has been made for them. A strange mix of relief and dread curdles in their stomach. 

"Who did they choose?"

A more apt question: Who is the Inquisition about to lose?

"Someone they're calling Divine Caelestis," Leliana says. "The official announcement will fly out shortly, my contact said. But I should hear more details from my spies within the day."

"Wait," the Inquisitor says, "she's not one of any of the official candidates?"

So the Inquisition won’t lose any of its own; the Inquisitor won’t have to say goodbye to a friend. They’d like to feel relieved, but...

"She’s an unknown,” Leliana says, “and I don't like unknowns."

"Won't be unknown for long," the Inquisitor says. "Not with your spies on the job."

The attempt to lighten the mood goes unnoticed or ignored. The Inquisitor sighs.

"I'll let Cassandra and Vivienne know," the Inquisitor says. "Keep me updated."

* * *

The Inquisitor is in the middle of speaking to Vivienne—Cassandra, already informed, audibly and angrily thrashes a training dummy in the courtyard below—when Leliana throws open one wooden door and marches up to the balcony.

"Divine Caelestis," Leliana says, "is a _man!_ "

"I beg your pardon?” Vivienne says. 

Leliana storms forward until she’s close enough to them that she has a reason to keep herself from shouting. That’s what it seems like, anyway—she’s on the verge of shouting or stabbing something, and which she’ll do first is just a matter of chance.

“That’s not allowed,” the Inquisitor says, “right?” 

They look back and forth between the enraged Leliana and appalled Vivienne.

“The Divine is always a woman, _has_ to be a woman,” the Inquisitor says tentatively, “so—“

“Not in Tevinter,” Leliana says. 

“A remaining Venatori faction, perhaps? Or some magister’s plant?” Vivienne muses. “Some sort of hostile takeover from the inside?”

“It shouldn’t be possible,” Leliana says, her voice grim, “but I can’t imagine what else it would be.”

Things are never simple. The Inquisitor can feel a headache coming on. 

“I’ll get Dorian,” the Inquisitor says. 

  


* * *

Leliana relays all communications from her contacts to the Inquisitor, Cassandra, and Vivienne. A few quick notes fly back and forth, at first, but then the first full report comes in. It reads as follows:

_Nightingale,_

_We cannot ascertain how or why Divine Caelestis was elected. No records of him exist prior to his ascension. Our next theory had been that his circumstances are similar to that of Divine Galatea, but we could not find anyone who knew of him before even as a commoner. For all intents and purposes, he fell from the sky one day and became Divine by the end of that same day. Even those of us who were in the area, even in the chantries, at that time—which is most of us—are mystified. One would suspect sorcery, magecraft, something of the like, but Divine Caelestis has no magical powers to speak of. As far as we can tell, he is no mage. We will continue to investigate this._

_All of us have laid eyes on the Divine by now. For most of us who made direct contact with him, His Holiness introduced himself as "a humble bard," and he offered to play a tune on his lute almost every time. He takes the thing everywhere. One of the first songs he sang was about something called a "witcher," but after a flurry of questions from those around him regarding apostates, he has since switched to other songs._

_His Holiness delights in wearing the elaborate robes of his station, but he typically declines to wear the ceremonial mitre headdress. One can often see a Chantry Brother following him and carrying the thing around in hopes that he'll change his mind. He rarely does._

_The general consensus on His Holiness is that everyone's a bit confused on how he rose to power, but that he's harmless, so far. The best thing about Divine Caelestis, it is said, are the morning and evening hymns—Divine Caelestis himself will often perform and sing his praises to the Maker. His voice is a pleasant one, and it echoes around chapels and drifts down from his room's window when he practices the hymns, which is quite often. The Chantry is in a bit of a panic about everything else—his habit of flirting with everything that breathes, for example. (Overheard: “I’m just sharing my holy gifts with the world!”)_

And the postscript:

_We are not sure if this is useful information, but one of our other spies got her hands on the hat that the names were drawn from before they emptied it. This is a list of other names on the slips of paper: Amabilis, Calixtus, Callistus, Cantus, Clarus, Eligius, Hesiod, Joyous III, Liron, Theodosius._

_Caelestis was luck of the draw, but perhaps Cantus would’ve been more appropriate since the Divine is so fond of singing the hymns—and other, less appropriate songs. Or Calixtus, given His Holiness’s penchant for getting his hands on Orlesian wine._

Post-postscript:

_URGENT: His Holiness has come into more of his power; Divine Caelestis's first decree has been issued. The Most Holy annulled all vows of chastity and made it so that it is no longer required for any clergy. Some of the grand clerics seem as if they've almost been driven to apoplexy. The proposed name Theodosius now seems like a cruel joke or a missed warning. (Remember Theodosia II?)_

* * *

_Nightingale,_

_Two warriors arrived seeking Divine Caelestis. Both ash-haired; a young woman with bright blue eyes, and an older man, indeterminate age, with eyes as yellow as lemoncakes, or lemons themselves, depending on who you ask. We are not certain from where they have come and how they arrived. No one saw any riders, nor has heard of them before. They, like the Divine himself, have appeared out of the blue, with no record of their existence prior to now. It is also uncertain how they entered the building, as no one saw them come in. Not even any of our people saw them sneaking or breaking in. We considered, at first, that they were possible attackers, but the Divine embraced them both so readily that those speculations were promptly dismissed._

_The two warriors are certainly very strange. More to follow._

Postscript:

_Divine Caelestis has decided that "this place needs more holidays" (direct quote) and, upon the day of the warriors' arrival, declared that we shall all have this one: “Bring your daughter to your workplace day,” he calls it. It's up in the air whether the Divine is supposed to be declaring new holidays. Grand clerics have been consulting holy texts. The young woman—Ciri—cuffed him on the back of the head_.

Post-poscript:

_The older warrior seems to be the "witcher" the Divine has referenced in his early singing, but the man is very clearly not an apostate. Meaning of the term unclear. We are still researching._

* * *

"Geralt of _Rivia_ ," Geralt says.

"Of course, ser," the woman says again, still nodding, dressed neatly in her habit. "Geralt of Rivain."

" _Rivia_."

"Give it a rest, Geralt," Jaskier says. 

"Yeah," Ciri says. "Aren't you proud of your—what was it—Rivaini heritage?"

" _You_ ," Geralt warns, pointing a finger at her; one that, when she was little, would've promised at least an extra hour of studying old boring monster texts. Now, she knows he's got nothing behind the warning, and she ignores him, eyes gleaming with delight at teasing her old man.

* * *

_Nightingale,_

_The Divine's warrior Geralt is from Rivain. No luck yet with finding any record of his life there. It is possible, of course, that it could be a lie. More to follow._

* * *

"I suppose you will have to put some thought to who will be the Right Hand of the Divine," the Sister says absentmindedly.

"Uh," Divine Caelestis says, "Geralt."

"Oh," the Sister says. She hadn't realized he'd have made his choice so soon—but, of course, it makes sense that His Perfection would be confident and ready in all things, with the full force of the Maker behind him.

"And the Left?" she asks. 

"...Also Geralt?" Divine Caelestis says.

"You don't have any other friends?" says Geralt of Rivain, whom the Sister had not seen lurking in that alcove, Maker help her! A man with a shock of white hair and eyes like a cloister cat should not be so skilled at hiding, she thinks.

"None here," Divine Caelestis says. Then his face brightens. "Ah—you just called me your friend."

"No," the Rivaini says.

"Look at you," Divine Caelestis says, "reminding me how dear I am to you."

"I did not say that."

"Come here, give us a kiss."

"You are insufferable."

The Sister loses what little bit of Divine Caelestis's flitting attention she'd had left. She finds that it's a bit of a relief, in fact, and she relaxes her unfortunate death-grip on the mitre headdress folded carefully in her hands. 

Divine Caelestis is too unpredictable. Something the Maker loves him for, if it's a trait He blessed the Most Holy with, she's sure, but, still. Better to let the Rivaini take over. And it's always nice to see the Divine Caelestis smile. The Rivaini's presence has proven to be the best at bringing that smile to the surface.

* * *

Managing an entire religion is so tedious. Jaskier thrives in court settings, but giving advice, like a king or something, is not really his style. Every now and then an ambassador of some country or another is so important that Jaskier can't find an excuse to get away, and it's such a drag.

Jaskier nods along to what this current fellow is saying before he pauses and thinks for a moment, actually taking in what the man had been talking about.

"Why not just _send_ those villages some food?" he says. "You ever live with nothing but the bread people throw at you? It’s not super fun."

"Just send it?" the ambassador says, nose wrinkling. "For free?"

"Am I or am I not the Divine?" Jaskier says.

The man splutters.

Jaskier raises his eyebrows.

"You are, Most Holy," the man splutters.

Well, alright then. That's that.

The man inclines his head in a slight bow.

Jaskier preens. Now, that's something he doesn't mind.

* * *

Jaskier wakes up to a strange man straddling him. 

Oh, knife. That's a knife.

Jaskier jerks his arms upward defensively and shrieks, "I didn't sleep with your wife!"

The man blinks, knife held aloft, paused in the middle of its downward arc.

"What?" he says.

"Or your husband!" Jaskier says. "I didn't sleep with your spouse! I'm taken! You've got the wrong man!"

"That's not why I'm going to kill you," the man says, a funny look on his face. "You are so odd."

"You're—you're killing me because I'm odd?" Jaskier says, right before Geralt beheads the man.

The decapitated body slumps onto Jaskier, who flails until Geralt lifts the body off him and drops it onto the floor beside the bed.

"I am covered," Jaskier says, "in blood!"

"Hmm," Geralt says.

He nudges the dead man's head with his boot.

"He called me odd!" Jaskier says. "Not even something striking or memorable, like bizarre. Just odd. How cruel is that, Geralt, to minimize me in such a way? Could you imagine if that was my legacy? Killed for something as mediocre and lackluster as being odd?"

Geralt ignores Jaskier's babbling and wipes his sword with one of the few clean edges of Jaskier's blanket. Most of Jaskier's blankets are decidedly not clean now.

"Where were you, anyway?" Jaskier says.

"Taking a piss," Geralt says.

"I was about to die," Jaskier says.

"No, you weren't," Geralt says. "I took care of it."

Jaskier crosses his arms, but Geralt doesn't miss how his hands trembled while they were still in eyesight. Geralt sheathes his sword and clasps Jaskier on the shoulder.

"Ugh," Jaskier says, but he leans into the touch. "This is awful."

"Are you ready to go home now?" Geralt says.

"Oh, no," Jaskier says, "absolutely not."

Geralt raises an eyebrow.

* * *

_Nightingale,_

_The first assassination attempt on the Divine's life has occurred. It has also failed_ _—the Hand of the Divine was with the Most Holy that evening, and he dispatched the would-be assassin without fuss._

_(It is uncertain why the Hand was in the Divine's room at the time. There is strong speculation that they are lovers. We have not yet confirmed it, but we're taking it seriously and pursuing that line of inquiry.)_

_(It is also uncertain who sent the assassin and why, but we continue to investigate. We know the assassin is not one of the Antivan Crows, at least.)_

_Everyone has taken to calling him simply the Hand of the Divine since it's quicker than saying Left and Right Hand, and more clear that those two positions are both, somehow, and for some reason, occupied by one person. The Hand_ _—_ _Geralt of Rivain, if you've not received our past messages about the man's appointment to Left and Right Hand—has proven to be most effective for making Divine Caelestis do what he’s supposed to do, but the Hand is even harder to persuade. No matter who speaks to him—Sister or Brother, Mother or Father, grand cleric—he usually says nothing or grunts in reply, and his next actions are a mystery._

_The Hand of the Divine also disappears half the time. He can’t be convinced by anyone—even Divine Caelestis himself—to stick around for longer than a week. When asked about it, Divine Caelestis just waves it off, says, "Oh, he gets cabin fever. He needs to stomp about in the woods for a bit and maybe kill something and then he’ll feel better.” And then Divine Caelestis will smile and say, “It’s so nice you’re worried about him, though,” and no one will have the heart to say it’s not him they're worried about. (More like afraid of, it seems.)_

_Divine Caelestis's visitors—his friends—are just as frightening and weird. An apostate named Yennefer portaled in during a meeting with a grand cleric; she wields no staff, has bright purple eyes, and called Divine Caelestis a pompous, blithering fool within seconds of arriving. (The Hand of the Divine also calls His Holiness an idiot unfortunately frequently, but the Hand is not a terrifying viper of a mage.) People in the room cried out for the chantry’s guards or templars, but they were met with Divine Caelestis's dismissal. (He said, "We probably shouldn’t waste so many guards,” and “Didn’t I disband the templar order weeks ago?” He hasn't done such a thing, and no one reminded him in case he decided to try decreeing it right there.) Divine Caelestis and the apostate proceeded to discuss—we might be so bold as to say slander—the Hand of the Divine for half an hour._

_The apostate left the same day; before she left, she and the Divine embraced. The apostate gave Divine Caelestis a gift—a golden circlet. He put it on immediately, and the cursed thing turns his hair green. The apostate cackled at Divine Caelestis's helpless cries before portaling away. It took three mages—all wary of the Chantry’s walls, but they came and went without harm—to undo the curse—and now Divine Caelestis insists on wearing the now-normal circlet everywhere he goes._

_The young warrior, Ciri, visited once again, as well, and_ _—though her unreasonably large sword still intimidates several Brothers and Sisters_ _—_ _her visit was uneventful. She expressed regret over missing the apostate's visit and appeared to intend to seek her out._

_Although Ciri and the apostate have gone, the Hand of the Divine continues to lurk. We will update you, Nightingale, as things proceed._

* * *

_Nightingale,_

_The apostate visited again. A few people managed to stop her long enough to ask her some questions; namely, is she involved with the mage rebellion, and does she know where the apostate Anders is hiding._

_"Who?" she said._

_When it was explained to her who he was, which Circle he had been from—what Circles even are, in fact—and what he had done, the apostate had nodded._

_"Good for him," she said._

_No one could get any other information from her. It seems as if many were too frightened to ask anything more._

* * *

Although it’s a bit rare, it’s not the first time everyone has gathered in the War Room like this. Varric’s luck isn’t good enough for him to believe it’ll be the last time. 

Almost everyone. Blackwall’s been gone for a little while. Varric hopes he’s alright, if only because Sera’s mood has been a bit dampened without him. Friends leaving without saying goodbye, friends mysteriously disappearing—Varric had enough of that in Kirkwall. He's getting a bit tired of it by now.

The Inquisitor and their advisors, with a few comments chipped in now and then from everyone else, had been discussing an excursion to “pay a visit,” whatever the hell that meant, to the New Divine—and, Maker, this situation is bizarre—when one of Leliana’s runners knocks on the door and delivers a report. Leliana’s quick eyes skim it before she passes it to the Inquisitor, who has to read it twice before laying it on the war table with perhaps more force than necessary. 

“Damnit, Blackwall,” the Inquisitor says. “Alright, change of plans. Dorian, Sera, Iron Bull, you’re with me.”

“What’s that?” Sera says. “What’s the problem with Beardy?”

“I’ll fill you in on the road,” the Inquisitor says. 

“You’re not going to see the Divine?” Josephine asks.

“No, I need to handle this,” the Inquisitor says. “Cassandra, Vivienne, Varric, you’ll be the delegation; go in my stead."

Woah. Uh. Varric, go evaluate the new Divine? Seriously?

It shouldn't sound so weird, given Varric's interference (or, at least, presence) at a number of world-shattering events in the past decade. But it still catches him off guard.

"Offer whatever apologies you need to that I couldn’t make it," the Inquisitor continues. "Josephine, write something up for them if they ask of it.”

“I will make sure everything is taken care of,” Josephine says. 

The Inquisitor nods. 

“Sorry to interrupt,” Varric says, “but you said my name when you were making that list?”

“You told me once that you are devout,” the Inquisitor says. 

“Well, yeah,” Varric says, “but—“

“Cullen’s holding down Skyhold,” the Inquisitor says, “and it’s not safe for Solas or Cole to go.”

Varric glances over at Solas and Cole—at the elven apostate and the spirit boy. 

“Okay, yeah,” Varric says. 

“Your concern is touching,” Solas says, sounding like it’s anything but. 

Then Solas softens and gives a slight nod. 

“I _would_ prefer to remain here,” he admits. “I’ve no love for the Chantry.”

Cole doesn’t say anything. Varric’s not sure if the kid’s even paying attention, but he offers him a smile anyway. 

“Do something fun while we’re gone,” Varric says. “Maybe put honey in Curly’s hair, or something.”

“Do _not_ ,” Cullen says. 

Sera's silence is a testament to how worried she is about Blackwall: this the part where Sera should chip in some prank suggestions, but she doesn’t; she edges closer to the Inquisitor and peers over their shoulder, trying to get a look at that letter. Varric curses Blackwall in his head. Sera doesn't need this kind of stress.

“I’m going with them,” Leliana says, which draws Varric’s attention back to the task at hand—the delegation. Right. 

Morrigan has kept quiet for most of this War Table meeting—like Solas, she doesn’t seem to care about all this—but at Leliana’s words, she makes a small sound of approval in the back of her throat. 

“It’ll be good to be out in the field again, won’t it,” Morrigan says. 

“You’re coming, too?” Leliana says. 

“No,” Morrigan says, “but I’m glad you’re not staying cooped up in that tower forever.”

The Inquisitor nods their approval at Leliana.

“Head out as soon as you can,” the Inquisitor says. “And, please, try not to start any holy wars while I’m gone.”

“Any more holy wars, you mean,” Dorian mutters. 

“My group, gather your things and meet me at the stables," the Inquisitor says. “The rest of you—farewell.”

“Maker watch over you,” Cullen says. 

Varric eyes his traveling party—three slighted candidates for the position of Divine—and sends up a prayer himself. He’s gonna need all the help he can get. 

* * *

"'Inquisition delegation,'" Jaskier repeats, when the Sister has finished speaking with them, when they're alone. "That sounds ominous. Does that not sound like it’s just the worst? What if they put me on the rack? What if they cut my balls off? Or worse, my tongue?"

"They won't," Geralt says.

Jaskier stops his pacing, looks over at Geralt, and visibly relaxes.

"Well, alright then," Jaskier says. "Bring it on."

* * *

"How do you think they're doing with the Divine?" Dorian asks.

The Inquisitor looks troubled.

"Don't worry, Boss," the Iron Bull says. "I'm sure they're doing just fine."

* * *

"I'm going to kill him," Cassandra says.

Varric offers a quick thanks to the Maker that (1) no clergy are around to hear her say that about the Divine and (2) she's not feeling murderous towards Varric for once. He edges away from her, remembering his near-broken nose after the Hawke-fiasco, and he looks to Leliana to be the voice of reason. He's seen her redirect or calm Cassandra before, and knows she's one of the reasons why the Inquisitor didn't get throttled in captivity when this whole mess began. Leliana, however, looks equally murderous now. 

"How dare he sit where she sat," Cassandra continues from between clenched teeth. "How dare he wear her robes and make his little decrees—"

"You're just mad he was flirting with you, Seeker," Varric says, which is exactly the wrong thing to calm her down with. 

Varric ducks her fist and then darts behind Vivienne.

"He hasn't done anything too dangerous yet," Leliana says after taking a deep, calming breath. "Nothing that justifies removal, anyway."

"The vow of celibacy is no laughing matter!" Cassandra says. "First that, and then what? He's been making these impulsive decisions, ridiculous decrees, and everyone is listening! Why is everyone listening?"

"Could he be a siren?" Varric says.

"Sirens aren't real, darling," Vivienne says, but her frown says she's considering it.

That Hand of the Divine is certainly something, Varric thinks. A damn shame Dorian is missing that one.

* * *

Geralt watches the Inquisitor's delegation chat in the courtyard they think is private. To be fair, no one but a witcher would be able to hear their conversations from this far away, and apparently this realm is under the impression that witchers don't exist. Too bad for them.

Geralt notices Ciri's approach and raises a hand to signal that she shouldn't make any noise. No one in the courtyard should be able to hear them from that far down, but it never hurts to be careful. Ciri creeps up to him on silent feet and casts a curious gaze down to the group below.

Geralt can tell exactly when she looks at them, really looks.

"No," he says.

"I didn't say anything," she says.

"They're too old for you," Geralt says.

Ciri tears her eyes away from the three women—and the dwarf, but Geralt knows she's not paying attention to him. 

"I'm an adult," Ciri protests.

Geralt growls. 

"Too. Old."

Ciri huffs and crosses her arms.

"Please," Geralt says, "find a nice woman your age. For my sake."

"Hmm," Ciri says, because all daughters are insufferable.

* * *

"He doesn't seem so bad," Varric says, leaning over to Leliana and speaking in a low tone.

Leliana speaks just as lowly, but without changing her posture. Her eyes carefully watch Divine Caelestis as he serenades the room, having put a pause on a sermon.

"He is not someone I would object to—befriending, I suppose—had I met him in another time," she admits. "But here he is, pretending to be Divine."

"And he is _not_ a bard," she says vehemently. "Look at him. A court minstrel, sure. But a bard?"

"Maybe he's an amazing spy because he doesn't seem like a spy?" Varric says.

"That's a spy's goal," Leliana says. "But this man is certainly not one of us."

Varric watches Divine Caelestis cheerily strum his lute while winking at a flushing Chantry Brother, and he finds that he has to agree.

* * *

Yennefer happens to come by a few days after the Inquisition's delegation has left, portaling into Jaskier's bedroom. She gives Geralt a quick kiss on the lips, comes over to where Jaskier's sitting and puts her hand on his shoulder, before bursting into a rant about some sorcerer whom she'd killed this week. Jaskier nods along in all the appropriate spots, privately wondering at Yennefer's patience, that she didn't set this jackass on fire sooner. When she's calmed down, Jaskier offers a subject change as a distraction.

"So, Jaskier says, "I've been doing a bit of reading—"

"I didn't know you could read," Yennefer says.

"Shut up," Jaskier says. "Anyway, this place isn't too different from ours, really. The whole 'Maker' deal reminds me a bit of Nilfgard's 'White Flame' nonsense. You know, the whole, 'Worship our god or we'll kill you,' that sort of thing."

"Hmm," Geralt says.

"There's even genocide against elves," Jaskier says. "'Exalted March' something-something. Terrible stuff."

"Really?" Yennefer says. She leans forward in her chair. "And you're now in charge of the religious faction responsible for committing genocide against elves?"

Her purple eyes gleam in the candlelight like wet plums. The back of Jaskier's neck prickles.

"Um," he says, "yes?"

* * *

"So, you see, it's totally and completely fine that the Dalish worship other gods," Divine Caelestis says, in the middle of a lengthy and winding decree.

A Chantry Sister nods along, horror splashed across her face. One scribe's quill tip snaps, and a Chantry Brother waiting in the wings with quills at the ready hands him another.

"Really, it's none of our business," Divine Caelestis continues. "That's between them and the Maker. Or them and their gods, I suppose. So we should just leave them alone and stop killing them and all that."

Divine Caelestis looks beyond the dutiful scribes and shocked, enraptured audience to the back of the room, near the doorway, where the Hand of the Divine and the guest apostate are standing. The Hand guards the door, and the apostate doesn't appear to be doing anything, but everybody knows she's probably scheming, up to no good, planning on consorting with spirits or doing blood magic, something like that. The apostate's face hasn't become any less unreadable during His Holiness's decrees, but the Hand gives him a thumbs up.

"Oh!" the Divine says, after glancing down at his palm, which seems to have a dark ink smear on it, if one catches a glimpse of it during his gesturing. "Let's also offer apologies and aid. It's only fair. Especially to poor elves in cities, which I hear is a thing. Let's be kinder; stop treating them like sh—er—like they're not people. They _are_ people. The Maker loves people. And the Maker loves culture. Take their history seriously when you learn it; don't undermine or cover up their efforts or accomplishments. Everyone understand?"

"Yes, Most Holy," the room murmurs. A few older members of the clergy look faint.

"Splendid!" Divine Caelestis says. "Right, that's enough of that for today. Anyone want to hear a song? I've been composing this new tune—really, I'd like to hear what you all think—"

* * *

Leliana reads the letter to Vivienne and Cassandra before anyone else, even the Inquisitor. Leliana sits them down, and she pours them each a drink, knowing, of course, which wine or beer each woman prefers, and she reads.

_Nightingale,_

_We have not yet reached a full year of the Divine's appointment, and yet he has done the wildest thing of all—he quit._

_Just this morning, not long before we are now sending you this missive, the Most Holy said, "I'm bored," and he called for the Hand, who emerged from some shadowy alcove and grunted his assent when the Divine told him they were both leaving. Pleas for the Divine to stay were met with smiles and grins and runaround sentences, until the Hand of the Divine unsheathed his broadsword, and then all pleas, the genuine and the halfhearted, fell silent._

_What happened next has left everyone reeling in even further shock, and is why we write so urgently now. The following is direct transcript—_

_"Oh, by the way," Divine Caelestis said, "my last decree is that I'm disbanding you all. Be free, go debauch yourselves, don't oppress anyone; farewell! Oh, and don't pick up any weird clay bottles from rivers and break them, seriously, my best advice—"_

_—and this is when he was cut off by the Hand, who dragged him away. We had not even been aware that the young warrior Ciri had come again to visit, but then she was there, and the three of them left. There are rumors that she revealed herself to be an apostate and portaled the three of them away, but it is known that no apostate so well-versed in portaling should have both that level of training in magic as well as adept swordsmanship; no one's ever seen that accomplished._

_The grand clerics have been consulting texts again and Mothers and Fathers are working on establishing order but several bands of Sisters and Brothers, as well as a few Mothers and Fathers, have left the order, believing it to truly be disbanded. No one has reached a consensus on the validity of the decree; things are not spiraling, but they are definitely creaking with the winds of change._

_The path before us is uncertain. Please advise._

When she finishes reading, Leliana looks into the eyes of Vivienne, and then Cassandra. All three take a drink.


End file.
